


Metamorphosis

by kingster



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: (sorry), Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, POV Second Person, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, State-of-emergency-text
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingster/pseuds/kingster
Summary: From time to time he sits down in front of you, places his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss. You're careful about letting yourself get emotional about it, cause you know he sometimes does it to control you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After watching the beautiful ending of season two, this came and kicked me in the head while I was on an airplane. Please excuse that it's short, and not really compliant with the series. This is just how their relationship developed in my head.

So there is this guy over at Allsafe. At first you think he's just a plain coding-monkey, but you notice the way Gideon treats him despite his  clothes (they're not horrible, just too casual, and you imagine a conversation between Gideon and him about it that didn't go too well), and his less than welcoming attitude. He's clearly valuable. When you look over his shoulder at his screen, you understand that he's probably the smartest guy in the room. Yourself included.  
  
When you talk to him you realize he's not deliberately rude or arrogant like you first believed. He's just scared. You mistake him for being nervous around management and you offer him a smile for comfort and put your hand his shoulder. That only makes it notably worse. He looks up at you with his wide, worried eyes and you realize his fear runs much deeper than suits. He seems thankful when you retract your hand and you decide to ask someone about his name.  
  
And why the fuck doesn't he work for us?  
  
"That weird Allsafe techie? Are you serious?"  Tom, the thick as brick assistant-manager-of-blah annoys you like nothing else when he raises questions like that, but you manage to keep your mouth shut. But yes, you're very serious.  
  
***  
  
You know the devil. It's not a metaphor. Her name is Joanna, and she lives in your house. You love her more than anything you've ever loved, but she is evil, truly, yet you love to have her at your side. She encourages you to do things you never would have done if it wasn't for her. She builds you in her image piece by piece and you let her, cause you know how powerful you'll end up at the end of this road. You know that your weak days are already fewer and fewer, your breakdowns further in between.  You'll be strong eventually.  
  
***

That weird Allsafe-guy is named Elliot and it's not hard to find his address. Even with your painfully expensive suit and slick hair, you're not all management and money, you know your shit too.

You're not really sure why you go to his apartment, but you have several explanations in your head. One for yourself that you can't really say out loud without it sounding a bit strange (so you don't), one for your bosses when you've managed to talk him into working for you and it proves a success ("yeah, I saw this guy had potential right away") and one for the fictional Joanna in your head ("han kommer att hjälpe oss att ta över värden, älskling") since you haven't really told the real Joanna.

He opens the door in black jeans, a hoodie, and that look. Like every single moment of his life is the scariest thing that has ever happened to him. He doesn't say anything but you're fairly certain he wants you to go away. You tell him with your calmest voice that you have to talk. You can tell he doesn't want to, but he lets you in.

  
***

It's hard to explain exactly what happens to you that night. It starts out like a normal conversation (albeit fairly one sided) about money, "possibilities" and "your future" but you understand from his blank stare that you're not reaching him. At all.

You stop to try a different approach. You need to reach him. You know you can. It's important. So you start talking about yourself instead. How you got into computers. Your idealistic childhood dreams. How they've changed now, of course, because you're all grown up and you know things cannot be the way you wanted then, but  - well, those dreams were important to you. They made you work hard.

You scan him for changes, but you get nothing. He's hard to read. You're starting to worry he might be harder to get to than you anticipated.  You finish  your well-formulated train of thoughts, and finishes with a "Please tell me your thoughts on this, Elliot."

Then, slowly, he starts to turn. The changes are subtle, but significant. His posture changes. He straightens up, pulls his shoulders back. His eyes are different. This is unexpected. At first you're impressed. You give him a nod of approval, and gets a happy, tingly feeling that you weren't wrong after all,  you were right. He needs to follow you. You'll do good things together.

Then he tilts his head just a little bit and looks at you with eyes that are both wild and focused and makes you think about a serpent or a dragon and you almost expect him to turn completely, grow a body full of hair in a second and run away howling at the moon, or at least flash a pair of healthy fangs. But he doesn't, he just stares so far into your soul it almost hurts before he starts talking.

You love Joanna, you really do, she's the only reason why you don't run off screaming the first five minutes. Because he takes all the stuff you've told him, picks it apart and turns it back on you. All these things you work so hard every day to deny and forget, he digs them up and makes you look at them. You can barely believe your eyes, this can't be the same guy, this has to be someone else. An evil twin that wants to save the world from you and everyone like you and everything you've created. You manage to keep your mask for a while, you actually surprise yourself with fierce arguments despite feeling like you're gonna lose, but in the end it's not enough. He collapses it all by grabbing a hold of your shoulders, looking into your eyes and saying "Tyrell, you are a good person. You know what's right."

You know it's a such a power-move, you've used it yourself sometimes but it's so hard to resist. It feels so true, and you've kinda known it for a while now, that you're trapped in a bubble that makes it impossible for you to see beauty that's not made of money or manipulation. It's all so painfully clear  right now and you just can't stop crying.

When his serpentlike demeanor fades away he looks genuinely worried, he wipes your tears away with his right hand. First with the sleeve of his sweater, then with the back of his hand.

"Don't be scared," he whispers and put his arms around you, but you are, for a million reasons right now, and you cling to him and sob. You can feel his fingers dig into your shoulder blades, his warm breath against your neck.

***  
 


	2. Chapter 2

You try to tell Joanna.  You sit her down, tell her that you've had a life-altering event,  but in the end she dismisses you - walks away from you kneeling beside the grey Finn Juhl couch like it's nothing, like you'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be back to normal.  
  
_Joanna, jäg älskar dej, men du fattar bara inte._  
  
***  
  
Most times you meet him, he's the other. The confident-bordering-on-arrogant-not-loud-but-nearly-always-brilliant-and-two-steps-ahead-of-everyone-Elliot. The worried, anti-social Elliot you barely ever see again. You wonder if it's an act for the world, but you never ask and you promise yourself to never be weak with him again. It's easy. You have faith in him. And you know that when you are on you best, you're a good sparring-partner to him. You bounce ideas off eachother and you love to hear him talk, figure out how his brain works. You throw him ideas that you know is bullshit just to se how he'll debunk them, and he never gives you shit for it. Sometimes, it even sparks a thought that leads to something unexpectedly useful and he credits you for it even you're not always sure it's justified.  Take the fucking compliment Tyrell, he says. You do.  
  
From time to time he sits down in front of you, places his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss. You're careful about letting yourself get emotional about it, cause you know he sometimes does it to control you. To give you attention so you'll be loyal. How he can think that you are anything but 100% loyal to him is complete mystery to you, but you appreciate the gesture.  
  
Other times it feels more genuine. If you hit a milestone or find a good solution to a difficult problem together he can turn overly ecstatic or suddenly be on the verge of tears, and if he gets close to you then it's to stay unaffected. He looks at you like you're the center of the universe and kisses you like there's nothing else. You know it's just a high that comes with the project, nothing real, but the feeling of sharing this type of work with anyone is amazing and it's hard to hold back. When his hand close around your wrist and his forehead rests against yours you let your fingers run through his hair. You stay close, breathe eachothers air and make out, but it never turns into anything more. And you're okay with that. You've never been with a guy and you don't really know what to do. You presume you would have figured it out pretty quickly but you don't mind not going there. You get enough sex with Joanna. She has a schedule. You don't always enjoy it. You can always recall the taste of her if you want to.  
  
***


	3. Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the first (and hopefully last) time in your life the words "because I love you" comes out of your mouth as a desperate scream, and you hate how the sound of it impairs the meaning instead of highlighting it.

The strange, tense Elliot you only catch glimpses of. And you hear others mentioning him, saying that he's weird. That doesn't bother you, you can see that he is. For a guy who tries to be invisible he sure manages to get noticed a whole lot and the others certainly do not see potential in him like you do. When you walk by someone calling him a fuckup in the hall on your way to lunch your jaws clench so hard you're worried you're gonna chip a tooth. Cause well, fuckup, that's just plain wrong. They just don't know how to handle him.  
  
Maybe that's why it's such a double blow the first time you see the cracks in him. When he shows up at fsociety one night, looking like he hasn't slept in a week. You just wanted to get out of the house so you decided to drop by, add a small fix you thought of earlier. You're happy to see him.  
  
He's not happy to see you. He actually freaks out. You understand right away that something's wrong, but you're still unprepared for the look of horror in his eyes when he asks you what you are doing here.  He interrupts you before you get to say anything and asks, voice too high: "How did you find this place? Why are you here?!"  
  
A feeling starts gnawing away at your insides, but you ignore it. You need to be strong. Maybe he's testing you.  
  
"What do you mean, Elliot? You showed me this place. We're doing this together."  
  
He steps back as if you've threatened him.  
  
"Doing what?! What are you talking about?"  
  
"Changing the world."  
  
He shakes his head, but you're not sure if it's denial or a convulsion. His eyes scan the room, then at looks at you pleadingly.  "What does that even mean?" he asks, "I don't know what that means. He's planning things behind my back. Did he tell you anything?"  
  
You take a few steps closer to him and hope maybe your presence can put him at ease. "No one is planning things behind your back, Elliot," you say calmer than you are, "it's just me and you. The others don't even know the half of it."  
  
"No," he says, shaking his head again, not looking at you. "This isn't right. Why would I plan anything with you? I barely know you. He's involved, I know, there's just so much stuff going on now, I..." he trails off, and turns his back you. He's silent for a minute, then he starts talking again, and it sounds like he's not even talking to you - it's like he's talking to himself, the way he does when he's trying to figure things out.  
  
You have to leave him for a moment because the walls are closing in on you and you barely manage to get to the door before they crush you completely. For reasons unknown he survives inside the small concrete block that is left of the building and you know that because you can hear him talking gibberish as you dry-heave outside in the crisp night air.  
  
Anyone's that been with him for more than five minutes knows that he's got stuff to deal with. But this is not "issues", this is not "being strange". This is a fucking meltdown. This could ruin everything you've worked for. You could lose him. You could lose yourself.  
  
There is a foreign sound coming from you. It doesn't sound like crying, more like the shrieks of a wounded bird and you cover your mouth with your hand to mute it.  
  
***  
  
It’s a long night.  
  
It’s the first (and hopefully last) time in your life the words "because I love you" comes out of your mouth as a desperate scream, and you hate how the sound of it impairs the meaning instead of highlighting it. You understand after a while that his outlandish reactions to everything you say and do isn't malice from his side, he just doesn't _understand_ because he doesn't _remember_. It doesn't make you feel any better, but at least it's something to work with.

  
Eventually he agrees to let you drive him home because you’re both exhausted and this leads nowhere. In the quiet of your car, where everything is muted and the lights are dimmed from the tinted windows you think about tucking him in, like your mothed used to, even when you did something bad. She would kiss your forehead and tell you that tomorrow is another day and a chance to do better. You'd always wake up better. It's all you can think about when you get to his apartment, this image in your head of you telling him goodnight and tucking the duvet around him, promise him that tomorrow will be better. Of course you can't do it, it's too weird.  You shouldn’t even here at all, but you don’t care anymore, you just collapse on his couch after he finds his bed. There is a million thoughts going through your head and you don't think you'll ever fall asleep, but you have nightmares anyway.  
  
***  
  
It’s still dark when you wake with a gasp from a shadow right by you. You shudder, try to shake yourself out the uncomfortable dream you've been having on repeat, and see him sitting on the floor beside the couch. You can see right away that he’s back to normal. Or rather, the state you’re used to him being in. He looks at you, eyes unusually soft and apologetic, and fumbles to grab your hand.  
  
"What happened?" you ask.  
  
He shakes your question away with his head, weaves his fingers into yours.  
  
"Come to bed," he says.  
  
The tone of his voice grips you like a vice, makes it hard to breathe.  
  
And you know should ask again, make him tell you what the fuck is going on with him, but you kinda don't want to cause you're just glad he's back and how could he even forget about you, it hurts just thinking about it and the way he looks at you now is different from usual, a bit more modest and you realize that could be dangerous: to the project, to your personae, Tyrell Wellick doesn't really sleep with guys, besides you've promised each other to keep a certain distance for the good of the plan and there are so many other reasons why this is a bad idea, like Joanna would kill you and you're pretty sure you have bad breath, how can you not after sleeping, you can smell yourself, the stress-sweat from your pits and this is really different from what you've imagined those times you've thought about it, you've always thought it would be at fsociety on a night of victory when maybe you'd brought cocaine to celebrate something and it would be so sweet and easy but this is the complete opposite, this is difficult and you have all these conflicting emotions and he's waiting for you to say something, Tyrell, you can't just sit here and think about what it means that you like the way he smells so much that it overwhelms you.    
  
"I mean, if you want to?" he adds sheepishly when you've been quiet for too long.  
  
And oh God, yeah you want to, and that slightly unsure tone of his just makes obvious that you're not gonna say no to this so you pull him in for a kiss, just tasting him at first, just to make sure it's okay and it is, you love the small changes in his breath and the way he's inching closer to you, discreetly as if you're not going to notice that he's suddenly closer to you, like you're not gonna notice that his entire mouth is almost inside yours now, at least that's how it feels like, lips and tongue and teeth and all. You think about swallowing him whole, consuming him and you start tugging at his t-shirt, take it off, come on, and your jeans too, you unbutton his pats and he stands up, yanks your hand and points towards the bed and yeah, that's better, much better, and you unbutton the way-too-small-buttons on your dirty white shirt while you walk over there and runs his hands down your torso as you unbutton the very last one and that look of his is gonna kill you at some point, you're sure of that. It's such a weird mix of challenging and submissive, like you could do anything to him and he'd love it,  you could bury yourself in him and stay there forever, and when he pulls you down on the bed you're weak with the thought of seeing him getting lost in you.    
  
You get rid of all your clothes, you throw them aimlessly off the bed because you can't break eye contact with him right now, you've never seen him like this, so open and genuinely happy. It's the most beautiful you've ever seen him. He's naked and hard and soft and warm and about a million other things that you want branded into your memory, along with the feeling  of your chests connecting. You make out rabidly, messily, and the desperate sounds he makes mirror exactly how you feel. You're licking a trail down his neck, down to his nipples, when he sucks your fingers into his mouth, you stop whatever you're doing and just dig your face into the blanket and you're not completely sure why it just feels so dirty-fucking-good, it just does. You breathe it out and sit up on your knees right in front of him, he gives you a curious, innocent look, and you kiss him deeply both hands cupping his face. Tentatively, he pulls your hand back to his mouth, like he's asking for permission and you nod, and watch him kiss and suck your fingers slowly. All you can think about is how much you wanna put your fingers inside him. Your left hand finds his cock and stroke it slowly. You kiss his face, his nose, his cheek, then you let your mouth take over for your fingers. They're wet. His spreads his legs almost unnoticeably. You're so excited it's almost painful when your fingers slip inside him. His eyes flutter and close, and but his hand closes around your other wrist abruptly.  
  
"I don't wanna come yet," he says.  
  
You let go of his length and push your fingers further in. It feels so good. Not just the heat and the tightness, but the idea of it. Being inside him. He inhales sharply and you bury your face in his neck, your teeth close gently around his skin and he gasps, you say sorry, kiss him, start fucking him slowly with your fingers and you're lost in how his body just takes you, over and over and over and suddenly he curses, starts jerking himself off. And you do the same cause here's just no way you're coming without having some part of you inside him, no fucking way, and you come right when he shudders and moans into your mouth, your fist tight around your cock, your fingers deep inside him.  
  
***  
  
He feels like a ragdoll on your shoulder afterwards, too-soft and pliant. You feel like laughing. You feel like running around, screaming, jumping, and laughing hysterically. You chuckle to yourself and put your arms around him. Kiss whatever part of his face you can find.  
  
"Can we move," you whisper. "My thighs are killing me."  
  
He grunts and moves away from you, lays down on the bed. You lay down beside him. He smiles at you.  
  
You're waiting to say something smart about how you feel, but you have lost all your words. You can see them floating around in your head, but they're all small and insufficient. All you can really do is smile back and hope that the soft morning light that fills the room explains it. It's pure and white like a new day should be.  
  
***


End file.
